War of Wills
by The Scrybe
Summary: Severus Snape, a confession, an admission, a repent. The abridged book he published after the war.
1. Default Chapter

Title: War of Wills: Severus Snape

Author: The Scrybe

Email: M

Fandom: Harry Potter

Summary: Severus Snape, a confession, an admission, a repent. The abridged book he published after the war.

Before you read this, I must inform you that this is not an account of all knowing omniscience. I can only inform you of where I have been, what I have done. I can not tell you the thoughts of others, only what I experienced, or only their reactions to the things I have fared. I cannot tell you of things word by word, I can only repeat things from memory, and memory sometimes, thank merlin, is not always exact and detailed. I must warn you, though, that before you go on to turn the page, there are things that may offend, or disturb. Some of these things I to this day cannot believe. These are the accounts of my life, Severus Ebonan Snape, these are my memoirs, this is my story, this is my confession, this will be my downfall.

Introduction:

It's quite strange the things one can get used to. Somewhere along the line death became a normality, a part of my life of espionage and secrecy that was no longer a huge grief, yet, rather, a necessary evil. The thought of a better good. I don't know when the screams of pain and torture became a lullaby to my nightmarish slumber but they did. And I've managed. I've dealt with them best I could, and I moved along. I've gotten used to blood stained on calloused hands, black cloth sullied with scarlet, I've even gotten used to the blame. I know that when this war is over, I'll return damaged, that I won't be able to be fixed, or mended. I won't be able to adjust to normality, I wont be able to conform to a world I've helped form. I'll be tortured myself.

It's quite weird that one can adjust to taking lives, torturing souls. After the first few attempts, I must say it was indeed hard, I learned not to look the dead in the eye. I am not a disturbed man. Contrary to beliefs, I have a heart. Although on many occasions, I escaped murder. But there were times I couldn't. I made the mistake of looking death in the eye, and challenging him. The last breath of a person killed by your hands is the most terrifying thing imaginable. They always haunt me. And I know, that in the days of peace and good fortune, I will still be tortured, I'll be repaid for all of those I killed, all those I have tormented I will never have my peace. My reward for self suffering will be more self suffering. "Some may die so that others may live." It's quite strange the things one can get used to. . . .

There were cotillions, I used to attend, with mother and my brother, Sarcadem. Mother always said that a woman introduced to society for the first time was a woman we could mold, a woman who would obey and serve. I never minded mother, for all intensive purposes we just amused her, Mother wasn't of sane mind at that time. Nevertheless, I met Bellatrix there. Her hair, as dark as night without stars and as long and wavy as the any river that flowed brushed against my arm, and the silky tresses beckoned for me. It was her sister's cotillion. I had no interest in the blond. Although, my brother did. Her eyes were an azure that would break the sky's stare. I fell in love immediately. We talked, I flirted, she seemed annoyed. In the end, she took my name, and where I was, she told me to expect something from her soon. I could only hope. That was my last cotillion.

It's not known the exact moment mother went insane. Father insisted it was the day she birthed our sister, Sylvia, having gone mad at the thought of having a girl. Mother detested girls. "They were only good for marrying," she said. Funny how she would never include herself, for she was just "above" femininity. Father wasn't much different from Mother. He locked himself in his lab all day, mixing and stirring. He'd run down the stairs of the house, screaming for my mother, Amelia, telling her that he'd found it or that he'd discovered something new, only to have his cauldron blown up hours later. Life was good then.

I adored Sylvia. She was my everything. Anything she asked for, she received. Mother ignored her, and father was never around enough to acknowledge her presence. Sarcadem, well Sarcadem was being Sarcadem practicing his hexes on the house elves somewhere. I remember the day Bella wrote me, three weeks after her sister's cotillion, I was playing a game with Sylvia. The owl was black, raven even. The scroll was of the finest paper, her letters in a curved calligraphy I never saw before coming from the hand of a sixteen year old girl. She told me of her days since the cotillion, explaining, but never apologizing, for her slow reply. She left the letter with simply: "Bye from Bella Black" and she hoped I'd reply soon. I did.

I sat cross legged in front of the fireplace, listening to the talk coming from my parent's room. I wrote her a three paged letter, front and back, telling her how much I'd like to see her. I sent it by Reptilian, the owl my father kept. The next letter I received was only an address and a time. I didn't know it, but that would be the night I would lose my virginity. It was also be the night I took Bella's. She opened the door in lovely blue robes, robes that fell to her ankles gracefully, and wrapped seductively around her waist. Her only words had been "I've been betrothed." And the rest of the night, though embarrassingly, had been attempt after attempt to satisfy the woman who willingly gave herself to me. We parted, and that was the last I heard of Bella Black, well, for the time being anyway.

Father came in once, breaking my life and shattering the calm that approached before the storm. Like a hurricane, he came in, grabbing my mother from my side and walking with her to the kitchen. We heard them arguing all the way in Sylvia's room. He had done it, my father had taken the dark mark. His brewing and mixing had been abandoned, in hopes to give to a god greater than himself. Mother refused to join him. Sly and Melia had fallen, like gravity stricken apples from a tree of happiness.

Mother was committed, to a fortress somewhere along the dank magical area in central England, and father seemed pleased by it. She was no longer a pawn to his master. But father did take notice in Sylvia. Soon enough, by my seventeenth birthday, we had been living alone for the summer, to make sure none of my father's cohorts had touched my sister. For all we knew, Sarcadem had succumbed to the dark forces, joining my father along the ranks. Sylvia and I were safe.

In all the time I had spent at Hogwarts, I had never doubted a decision made by Albus Dumbledore. Until he suggested I join the males in my family with Voldermort. He promised to keep my sister safe, if I'd give my life to him, if I'd give my life to the war. "Some may die so that others may live," he said. I asked him why me, and he simply replied, "You are the only one I can trust." I could never deny the old man. I joined that year, and graduated soon after. I came back to work for him three months later, as a Potions master. I had studied under the tutelage of Nicholas Flammel and my father, Sly Snape. I found out later, as a Deatheater, that Bella had also joined the ranks, along with her husband, Rudolfus. She was a Lestrange.

I hadn't killed for Lord Voldermort, I simply brewed his potions and branded his newcomers. My main job was to spy on Albus Dumbledore. Quite ironic I'd say. I met Lucius there. His hair was almost the same color as Bella's sister, his wife, Narcissa. Lucius Malfoy was normal when I met him. Then the raids began. He ravaged women while their husbands watched, or left with their children, and sent back pieces of their bodies later. Lucius had been corrupted by insanity and touched by madness. We all wondered what he did to Narcissa. I killed for Voldermort once. He'd commented on my unforgivables. "They only work when you mean them Severus." And he had meant his, the burning went through my body like liquid ice. Quite the opposite. I killed a girl that night. After I took her. I meant that unforgivable. I meant it because I had to. Life was unbearable. But Sylvia was safe. And I was helping the war effort. And then, the famous trio arrived.

A/N: I don't know where this came from, but I needed to go off course with the light and bubbly that is Velvet Truths and Wool Misconceptions. This is something more serious. None of the stories I write are connected, so names may be different. Please read review and continue reading after this chapter.


	2. Chapter Two

The golden trio. Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter. Having a feud with his father in my younger years, I grew to resent the luck of the young boy. He'd done nothing more than sat as his mother protected him, as his mother banished the world of the dark lord, yet, Harry Potter got the recognition. His meddlesome friends were a thorn in my side the entire time they attended the school. Of the three, I have found myself leaning toward the only feminine third of the group, appreciating her for her intelligence. Since the first day the young lioness arrived, she denied failure, and refused rejection. At times, when I seemed harsh, she came back with three times the persistence, trying to show the world that a muggle born witch could be better than all the rest. Before the war, I noticed, that if it not for the young girl, Harry Potter would not be as famous as he was during, and before the great war.

Ah, the Great War. The beginning of the end. A war to end all wars. It was the only time in my entire life that I was an idealist. Flights of fancy seemed to take hold of me at times, making me actually believe that the war would be short, that it would be over in a battle that would make legends. I actually believed that the "good" side would win, quick and easy, only because we deserved to. I never liked fairy tales. The war was ongoing, never ending. The followers of the cause were growing weary. Strategy meant nothing. It was a war fought on shock and surprise. But let us get to that later.

Before the war, I taught. Before the war, I was never happy, I was never content. I'd been like that since I could remember. And then, I noticed her. I noticed her in a way a teacher should never notice a child, his student. In ways of pure lust, pure desire, pure sexual primal hunger. I wanted her. There was just something about her that made me need her like a drug. I was an addict in an environment meant for overdosing. Don't get me wrong, I was never in love with her. I appreciated her body. In my own manipulative manner I suggested to myself that she would be ripe for the picking, she would be perfect for molding. I never knew if she had interest in me, actually I didn't care. I convinced myself that she was a reward, for my service, and that Dumbledore could never say anything about the affair, because he owed **me**. I knew I was wrong, but, I had to justify my answer somehow. So, like an accomplished spy, I found a way. I lured her into thinking I was in love, I used her, I had her. She was a Queen to the throne of my bed. The first time I had her, I let my defenses fall. I wasn't a spy, I wasn't a teacher. I was a man. It was a forbidden relationship. On my part, it was an old man's fantasy, on hers, a schoolgirl crush. It was undeniably wrong. And so, in a fury of harsh words I ended it, I threatened to fail her if she ever chose to tell. Mean on my part, yes, but a necessary evil nonetheless. Her name was Pansy. Pansy Parkinson.

I know that in writing this, I am convicting myself, not of a crime, no, but of a moral wrongdoing. Hogwarts, along with the wizarding world is not opposed to those sorts of relationships, they are what makes it grow, what shapes it. But in retrospect, I was wrong, I used the young women, I bruised her ego, I hurt her emotionally. I can only ask that it makes her a stronger person. I swore to myself that I would never let it happen again, I would never use a woman for my needs. I could never risk it. I could never hurt someone intentionally. That, that was wrong.

I got to know Hermione Granger during the start of the war. No longer could I deny her intelligence, no longer could I in snide, rude ways berate her as anything as genius. We were, of course, fighting for the same side. She began working with me on research to kill the Dark Lord during the beginning of her seventh year. Having completed her studies, she dove into to task with a vigor that rivaled my own. She had her own reasons for ending the war. I, although I never admitted it before now, appreciated the help, the companionship. I started noticing her. I noticed her like a teacher should never notice his student...


	3. Chapter Three

In my opinion, Miss Granger was an awkward girl. Long, and lanky, with her bushy hair and close together eyebrows. Her body was oddly proportioned and she had more bends than she did curves. She was the spokesperson for mediocracy, she was average. In a crowd of students, I would never recognize her if her insistent hand weren't raised. But I envied her knowledge. I was attracted to her intellect. Her voice when explaining a concept was the most alluring thing I've ever heard. After a while, I'd catch myself staring at her lips when she spoke. A while after that, she began to catch me. Her shell of mediocracy fell and from it's remains the woman I know now has hatched into the beauty that stood next to my shoulder, day after day, looking for a solution. It wasn't lust. I didn't crave her body. I didn't exactly need physical contact. It was far beyond that. I needed mental stimulus, an emotional connection. I don't know the exact moment I fell in love with Miss Granger, Hermione, but I do know that it had to be when she smiled, or when she explained her ideas to me. I needed her, I wanted her. I loved her.

Over the course of the war, through every great battle and every small fight, Hermione was by my side. You must know of the war. The details, I should not have to explain, for the articles still lie in the newspapers, you know who won, you know how they won. It is obvious to those who read this book. So I shall not recall the minor details of a war already explained. But there was a war being fought elsewhere. My war. The war of wills. I debated with myself if I should tell her how much I cared for her. Even if it meant rejection. She was no longer a student, my moral opinion was quieted. And on one faithful night, the night before the war ended, we coupled. She was twenty years old then. She was ripe, and willing, she was a virgin. She came to me, her heart beating wildly in her chest, she told me. Like a fist continually being slammed onto her rib cage, threatening to break it's confines. I remembered thinking, How poetic, my Hermione. She asked if the war would ever end, if the battles would cease, and she could live again. She wondered if she would live through the final fight, or would she die a virgin, unloved and unwanted. I pressed her head against my chest then, letting her weep the tears of a prisoner of war. She wept her tears of sorrow, and regret. I let her unbutton my shirt, kiss my lips, I let her use me that night. She was repaying me for using Pansy. It was only fair. I let her soft, small hands caress my body like a specimen, waiting to be tested, to be used, to be experimented on. Don't get me wrong, I caressed, I touched, I felt. I pushed into her with such gentleness that the pain that followed was meaningless. Short, and weak. I made love that night, and she just used me. I've never experienced a love like that before.

If you are reading this, it is probably years after the Great War. Years after the fall of Dumbledore's army, years after Voldermort's rule, hopefully. My memoirs, my story, stuffed into the crevice of the dark room. Where the dark is haunting, where the screams drift to my ears in whispered tones, as silent as the dark is thick. Sometimes, just sometimes, I recognized them as Hermione's. Being tortured as I sat in a dark room, alone, with my quills and my parchment, writing what may be illegible years from now. Sitting in a room while the woman I love is being tortured. Sitting... waiting. For what? Madness, rescue, starvation, death. I do not know how many days have passed, nor do I know the nights. All I know, is that the war I wage with my own wills has come to a solution. The war has ended, I have lost.

Excerpt from War of Wills: Chronicles of Severus E. Snape- Only legible chapters..

My brother's account of his capture was the only records remaining of the Great War. I, Sylvia Snape have published these findings. The Wizarding World, as we knew it, is gone, Voldermort, ruled for a time being only to fall at the hands of his own power hungry Deatheaters, who killed each other during the power struggle. The Wizarding World was left to the survivors. The whores, the beggars, those who served for Voldermort in means to save their lives. No survivors have been found of Dumbledore's army. I, as the Minister of Magic guarantee the events of the middle ages of magic shall not happen again. Please, support my cause, the reconstruction of the Magic age.

And so, the remaining wizards gathered around, chanting Minister Snape among the crowds...


	4. Brave New World

Title: War of Wills: Severus Snape

Author: The Scrybe

Email: M

Fandom: Harry Potter

Summary: Severus Snape, a confession, an admission, a repent. The abridged book he published after the war.

Chapter Four: Brave New World.

She kept him in a room, locked away at the pit of her basement. No light leaked into the threshold of his subconscious, in his mind, he was alone. They were all here. She kept them locked away as she had been ordered, and she knew not where she left the key. She would hear him calling her name, wailing it. He thought he was a ghost, living a life of turmoil for the sins he had committed during his lifetime. How fitting. What he didn't know is that he was very much alive, and the woman he so desperately yearned for was only floors above him, in a sleep she would only revive from when she was given the antidote.

She let him suffer, it was only fair. He made her suffer years ago. He made her feel as though she were on top of the world. When they were together, the hushed sounds of her name drifted from his lips in a state of ecstacy. His hands would roam over her willing body and make her feel like she was his only priority. She fell for his soft-spoken words. The silk threats of her name being moaned against the walls of his bedroom still beat reminiscently in her head. She let him tangle the strings he had so strategically placed. Strings that were once hers to control. But he was her master, that was, until she found the Dark Lord.

He had been everything she needed. His power formed a cocoon over her, shielding her from men like Severus. And when the war had raged, and Dumbledore's army had been captured, her Lord gave her the one man who was foolish enough to hurt her. Along with him, she received his whore. She never would have guessed he would leave her for a woman like Hermione Granger. But of course, she didn't matter, she was only a pawn in her game to mess with Severus.

After the fall of the Dark Lord, his followers began to become greedy. She and Bellatrix stayed post, watching over Severus, Hermione, Ronald and Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Draco Malfoy, the little traitor, and the famous Harry Potter, who had seemingly went insane at the hands of Bella. They haven't been found, as of yet, although they did relocate. The house was on no map, an island small enough to walk its circumference in a day. She liked it here. She knew one day, though, the aurors would raid the house, discovering its well hidden secrets.

"What's on your mind little one?" Bella asked from her place at the window, opposite of where she was sitting at her desk.

"What's after this, I guess. We can't hide here forever. I say it's time we release them, say we saved them from rogue Deatheaters. We can bathe in the glory of fame and recognition."

Bella laughed a laugh Pansy knew all to well.

"Child are you insane? Of course, you could go into the world with a clean slate, you were never accused. But me, I am too tainted to return. No amount of rehabilitation could save someone like me. I'll be executed upon sighting."

"Not if we admit things no one could confirm." Bella's eyebrow arched over her beautiful eyes.

"Such as?"

"There are all but too many curses to name, Bella. I can vouch for you, your insanity being only temporary under the care of the Dark Lord."

Bella listened, her face brightening.

"Can we torture them a little more?"

"No, we can't. It's time we were introduced into the new age Bella."

"You do understand, Pansy, that Potter may be able do identify me."

"Maybe, but if he does, he can only identify your voice. The rooms are too dark."

"You do understand, Little one, that if I am sent away to prison, you will be joining me?"

Pansy smiled. "That's the only way it should be, sister."

They went about their business, "discovering" each of the abandoned prisoners. They gathered them all, bewildered and dazed into the boat, the boat that would take them back to civilization. It took all of Pansy's willpower to restrain the vengeful Neville from physically ripping Bella's hair out, but she did, and as they approached shore, the story of their capture had been told. Pansy couldn't help but notice the two lovesick people at the opposite end of the boat, huddling in tears of unsureness. "This can't be real..." she heard Severus say as he stroked Hermione's cheek.

They walked up to the Ministry, leading the group of followers. Pansy watched as Bellatrix was seized by the newest generation of aurors. She watched as she struggled, and fought, until finally, a booming voice filled the hall.

"Let them come!" Pansy couldn't be mistaken, the Minister was female. They climbed the unfamiliar stairs and followed the aurors who seemed to be spiteful.

What greeted them was Mistress Sylvia E. Snape.

Severus snapped out of his revere, composing himself as well as a man reintroduced to life could. He opened his eyes to a sun he thought didn't exist, dug his feet into sand that he swore would have burned in hell. He caressed the cheek of an angel he thought to be gone. He couldn't be in heaven...this had to be real.

When he reached the Ministry of Magic building, although a very different building than he remembered, and encountered his sister, all he could do from squeezing her to death was cry. He was alive! He watched, fascinated at the scene before him. His sister had grown into something enchanting. Her eyes were a green so shockingly piercing that she stared right through him. She was tall, taller than their mother, and fit. She had been skipped of the Snape snout, he noticed, and replaced was a small pointed nose that suited her face. Her hair was longer now, still jet-black. The ebony tresses fell to her waist in loose ringlets. Yes, this was his sister, healthy and beautiful. He ran to her, hugging her, telling her of all the things he went through. He felt her face like a blind man, who was given the gift of sight a second time in life. And then...he fainted.

A/N: After much consideration, I am continuing with this story, although at first it was to be a trilogy. Hopefully I will receive more reviews for it from those who took the time to read the first three chapters. This is just a connecting chapter, so please be patient for more of the plot. R & R!


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